None of the King's Men
by Visions of a Kaleidoscope
Summary: What if there was a third Prototype during the first Blacklight outbreak? And what if the real reasons he was unknown was that he's a person that loves to stay in the background, and he was whisked away to another world quite early on? How will Halkeginia handle a being so deadly and as unpredictable? Possible AU Halkeginia due to crossover.
1. How it all began

Chapter 1: How it all began.

It all begins with a simple wish and a great luck… Yeah right.

Truth is, all things and events were simply just a minuscule part of a greater plan acted upon by Him; GOD; The Lord of Heaven, Earth and Everything in between; The Big Boss; The Great Father; and et al. You guys get the picture so far.

So great was His plans that all the actors and players was given Free Will to do as they please, for none is beyond His plans. You got screwed up, His plans. You win big, His plans. You live or die, happy or sad, His plans. Still with me?

In fact, it is my belief that whatever happens, good or bad, is in His plans. His unlimited knowledge, omniscience and fair justice made all events happens. It was our own limited understanding and capability which brings us to judge Him unfairly at most time, especially in time of discomfort.

In His infinite greatness, managing a few billion alternate universes is probably but just a strain of His greatness. In our insignificant tininess, all His plans often come to us upon realization in the range from the expected to 'How the fracking frak that happen (HTFFTH)' level.

Well, my tale begins with two of these HTFFTH level incidents although there was a slight breather period between the two. The result of both events is I am now achieving a few of my greatest, wildest dreams.

* * *

I, Edwin J. Peterson, was born along with a twin on 14th February 1988, the coveted Valentine's Day which some couples utilize to 'deepen' their love for each other. Our parents instead, were even happier that the teasing regarding their parenthood had officially end (it's a 'pictures or it didn't happen' thing).

Our life was eventful ever since. Our family grew well with 2 parents and 8 kids; our grandparents eventually passed on; our family grew from poor to rich, bankrupted and rich again within 12 years (long story); one of our relatives went FUBAR and tried to cap us all (even longer story). Yeah, it was very eventful.

Although we are identical twins, we grew in different areas. My brother was the genius mechanic, ladies man and heir apparent of our family business. I became the nerd ninja of our family, a well-to-do securities speculator, and the go-to-guy for weird stuff.

I was also, for a lack of words, a modern mage. Hence, I became the go-to-guy for weird stuff. No Fireball here, or Thundaga either. But I can buff and debuff a person or item, item de/enchantment, scrying a person or item, 'summon' said person or item, and et al. (Yes to some hecklers out there, it's kinda like the so call New-Age pagan stuff… Jeez, we need some rebranding to do.)

Anyhow, I was now officially 20, and a trip to New York sounds fun. The Big Apple, one of the famous cities of the US of A. Travelling is fun, even with traffic congestion and dirty streets. Ah, it's fun being human. Alone, we are small, weak and pathetic. In a group, we are a force to reckon with, capable of creating the greatest good or the worst calamity on earth.

Then, the first HTFFTH event happened. I was enjoying the New York Subway when some commotion occurred, this hooded guy running away shoving people out when the gunshots happened. I became a collateral damage as the guy fell in front of me after being hit, some stray bullets sprayed too late hit me instead.

As I fell in shock, that guy mumbled loudly a curse or two before smashing something to the ground. If being shot pains like a b$%h, the next minute or so was worse, much worse. Imagine your eyes was lit up in fire, your whole body under constant electrical shocks, your lungs feel heavy and harden as if it turning into stone, your skin hurts as if it was scraped and flayed alive. The pains was too much, I blacked out and should be dead now.

Or not. I woke up later in an operating room. The doctor was beside me, busily writing and checking his clipboard and reports. I felt no pain, just blunt emptiness. Then, instinct took over. I grabbed him, tendrils shot out piercing him, bring him into me, we coalesce into a blob for split second and fall to the floor. Quite a little commotion it was.

Security rushing in, weapons hot and ready, and picked me up off the floor. They call me a doctor, I stammered until I saw in a reflection that I'd changed into that doctor. I quickly said I'm fine, and ordered them to chase that 'creature'. They move as quickly out as they had came in, barking orders and reports loudly from down the corridor.

I'm amazed that I could lie through my teeth under such duress. Nevertheless, I'm bailing out of here. With a disguise like this, it was easy. As I stepped into a dark alley, I relaxed and changed back. It was simply weird, I tried again to return form to the doctor, it occurs seamlessly. Back and forth, repeatedly as if it was second nature to me.

I was… stunned, sad, scared, and a lot more emotions pouring in. I'm now a monster, or an alien, or an alien-monster. I couldn't think. It was simply too much. But my training as a mage helps, weird-stuff-go-to-guy remember? A little meditation help clears the mind, and unlocked something else in my mind. It's the doctor, his memories and thought process (I think?). It seems there is a great conspiracy was afoot.

Dr Alex Mercer, GenTech, Blacklight virus, government idiocy and cover-up, the doctor's smoking hot wife who was a transgender. Damn, the fragments are a lot, and it made little sense at all. But, it wasn't all I found, it seems the reason I'm not human anymore was a virus, and it had some sentience. It had a will and a hivemind, and I'm its leader.

* * *

Being a mage (and also a college student) also requires a healthy imagination to envision and formulate solutions to any given problem. It's been a few days since then, and some incidents occurred. A few brush-in with the local law enforcers and the military might that was sent to handle the viral infestation occurred since, had taught me a lot to defend myself and generating quite a cache of information.

In short, Alex Mercer had re-emerge as another of my kind, a leader per say of the virus within him. He caused great amount of devastation to help curtail the threat from the virus and the accidental release of Elizebeth Greene. Greene is our predecessor in which she was infected with the original virus which she alone survived. The Blacklight virus which we controlled, and that deform the other infected was derived from hers. She plans to spread the virus and control the infected as their queen. For now, she had achieved both on the island of Manhattan.

Emulating her and Mercer, I did something that both did little of. Unlike the lone Mercer, I created a little team of my own by infecting two homeless and a stray civilian. Unlike Greene, my group isn't as mindless as hers, and we stick to the cover of darkness. As dark as it sound, I technically saved them from the ravage of the infected in the buffer zone between the clear and infected regions. By injecting a piece of me into them, I slowly turned them into subordinates with some regeneration, offence and defense capability

The mind is a great fertile ground which progress could be made in leaps and bound. Unfortunately, the conscious mind is limited in capability to process and multitask. Here is where my team comes in, as the 'mother-ship', only I could efficiently consume and bond us four together. All of the infected and human enemies felled were consumed by me, before the biomass and information was distributed and processed in parallel.

This set-up had enable some personal advancement be made. As a team, we end up knowing a lot, leading us to interpolate and innovate a lot. After a while, I too was able to create a lair like Greene. We made ours in an abandoned warehouse, equipped with our own sensors and guards (luckily, animals and stray pets are aplenty and easier to turn and control with the virus).

We even create a rudimentary biological computer to store and compute information we collected, it even had a biological and (get this) psychic interface. The ensuring weapon and defense development gave us a sort of biological automatic weapons, extensive sensing capabilities and even physical, thermal and psychic cloaking.

But my greatest advancement was on magic. I once had a theory about mana ever since I read manga and comic when I was small. Later on, I signed up on a Reiki course and became a master teacher. Then, I met my mage mentor. She often insisted that this isn't mere magic but Thaumaturgy, the art and science of miracle creation and production. She often tells me that the flashy part shall never be achieved except by the very best after a long, consistent practice of decades and years.

I guess she was right, except that I had a shortcut derived from the infection and my current non-humanness. My research amplified by the shared-processing capability of my team and our bio-computer found links and connections which enables magic to be easier utilized.

Magic, as it turns out, was derived from resonance between the surrounding materials with intents of sentient being such as humans, while mana was derived from vibrations generated by living creatures as they live and thrive. Plants was the most cost efficient producers of mana as it derived much of its power direct from the sun, unlike most beings which generate power from consumed materials.

Energy and power transformation efficiency also came into play. As practitioner of magic, one is trained to create and maintain energy connection and links to augment power transformation efficiency. Faith and belief is yet another criterion, which related to the focus need in directing the flow and molding of the mana.

As exciting these progress bring, The Big Boss seems to have another plan for me. No one could have seen it even from a far. Like a speeding wall of titanium, it hit me as hard as if I was also speeding towards that titanium wall. The second HTFFTH event happened, and it's even more shocking than the first.

* * *

It was over a week and half since the inception of this horrible plague. As the percentage of infected increase, the hold of the military and their brutal method also did increase. Our movements became restricted, as the battlefront became a four-sided battle-royale. Mercer is as ruthless to my infected as he is to Greene's. The military also don't give damn, as no matter how you slice it; all of us are The Infected, end of case.

We had to change our base frequently, and reviving or replacing team members are easier said than done. I was constantly hoping to get a better place, to live and prosper with the new form I have now. That wish came true that very night.

In the basement of an abandoned sleazy motel smack dab in the middle of the infected zone, we settled down. All of the unfortunate infected was slain and consumed, all of the windows and doors blocked, and hopefully nobody came knocking.

You may call me a coward or lazy or a bum, but this is my way of doing things. We, as a team, don't like be out there anymore than is necessary to eat, gather information or just find a place for survival. As much as I want to reverse the plague, it is now too strong and survival takes precedence. As for returning to family and friends, I gave up since I'm already dead or assumed dead, and my non-human form make it even harder to appear to them lest bad things happen to them.

As the sun sets, then it happen. A growl suddenly came, sparks began to fly, a small greenish glow appears in the middle of the room. Slowly, that glow grows from a dot into a large rippling oval while greenish sparks intensify. It was a portal.

I knew a portal when I see one. I mean, years of reading fiction and mage academic literature kind of describe what most portals look like. Our senses were piqued by the flow of energy and mana emitting from the portal. Maybe it's just a hallucination, but the fresh scents of some forest seems to seep from said portal.

It's a hunch, an instinct, a desire, all came to me, prompting me to just go, run to the other side of the portal. I knew that viruses aren't animals, but ever since the infection, I do confess that primal urges came frequently than before. Such simple animalistic instincts that transcends human logic. Raw but focused.

Since my very soul desires it, and the city I dwell is no longer a welcoming place, we left caution to the wind and, with enhanced superhuman capabilities, literally jump into the portal ahead. Our hope was where we're going shall be better, and by my faith in His plans, it should be where we're needed most.


	2. New world, New life

Chapter 2: New world, New life

As I had said that this portal shocked me more than my transformation into a virus creature, I wasn't lying. Those green sparks, very painful when hit. Being twist and turned across the voyage of the portal, I'll bet even those professional air-show pilots will faint from it. Worse of all, we arrived at a mana abundant world, it's a bad crushing feeling at first. Try imagining going from no external pressure to having the whole world stacked on you in a split second.

We were flat on the ground, for 15 whole minutes. You are talking here about beings that survived hits from flying cars and thrown debris. Beings that survived being torn apart by mobs of infected zombies, and a virus monster with superhuman strength and uber-sharp talons. Now, these beings were flatten by something so subtle and invisible in the air.

It was enlighten at least. As undefeated juggernauts we were, there were greater things still out there. I was hoping that our new home is better than our last, a hope very closely to be shattered in the days that came. It was our first step to greatness, infamy and the fulfillment of some of my dreams.

* * *

Jack Stone is your average young man, a hardworking farm boy working his family farm. But looks are deceiving, for Jack is also a secret illegitimate son of a local noble. His heritage was held a secret due to the laws which separate the mages from the common folk. These same laws had placed those mage minorities as the blessed and chosen nobles which governs and lords over the commoners below.

In such divided society, injustice bound to be aplenty. Jack's mother was a fairly fortunate exception; his noble father had truly loved his mother during her service at the noble's manor. When she starts to show signs of pregnancy, she was threatened by her employers. Hence, the star-cross lovers were forcefully separated as the young noble was forced to marry his family's chosen in return for her safety. The lovers secretly promise to never truly sever the love they had, a promise still kept by the covert letters and parcels they exchanged throughout the years.

Anyhow, Jack didn't know it back then, that he shall be instrumental in a revolution that changes his entire world. He wasn't alone; countless others across the land will be involved. It begins much later when we eventually meet him after a series of events.

* * *

Once those 15 minutes of adjusting to the sudden mana flood was over, we began scouting our surrounding. It was a fairly dense highland forest full of pine trees, and the usual flora and fauna. It was nearing dawn, as the twin moons began to be outshone by the rising sun.

Dang… Twin moons… I knew we are far from Earth, but it's still damn weird to see two large moons of different colors. Anyway, it's a long journey and it's making us hungry. So, hunting is our next agenda. But I did regret a bit what happen next.

Stalking a cute deer, I got some inkling feeling. Aiming my projectile bio-weapon, that feeling got stronger. Shooting the projectile, that deer loses its head and most of its neck, and someone shouted in amusement and anger that his chosen prey was taken out haphazardly.

The hunter rises from his bush while cursing aloud to whomever did him wrong. An experienced hunter he was, as he suddenly threw his knife towards my bush hoping to scare me away. It hit me square in the face, but as a living cluster of virus, I felt no pain, simply removed the knife and recover as easily. It's time to introduce myself.

He was quite surprised as I gathered from his body language. Who wouldn't if they met a strange young man, wearing unusual clothes, and sporting a pulsating lump of flesh on his right arm, in the middle of the woods? Regardless, that man took his chances and starts his Tough Guy routine.

"Oi lad, Ya think ya good enough to go strolling in ma wood?" he boasted to gain the stronger position. I stared him in silence. "Are ya deaf or mute, lad?" angrily he said as his tone hardens. I simply stares some more as his anger preps him to a fight. "Think ya too good to answer me, ain't cha? See this blade here, lad? I'd kill bigger, stronger beast with it. Ya gonna be filled with holes if ya don't start talking!" as he brandish his sword at me.

Actually, I was stunned back then by a few facts. First, the novelty of being yelled at, and/or threaten by someone not an infected or a military muscle-head. Second, the sheer improbability that the first native of an alien world spoke to me in English was shattered. Finally, the uncanny similarity of this tough guy to someone I dislike back on Earth for being a big braggart and bully (I wasn't bullied by the guy, but we did have some confrontation about it).

Seeing that I was stunned, he simply just begins his assault by swinging his blade in practiced fashion to slash and maim me. His sudden movement triggered my instinct to dodge and counter his attacks. Being inhumanly agile and armed with experiences against the inhuman creatures of the infected, I saw an opening and punched his undefended chest.

Even controlled, my punch packs a lot (I suspect excess mana and an empowered strength by said mana had to do something about it). He thus flew backwards towards a small tree, and I heard the sound of dry and wet crunches. Reaching his slumped body, I found a half-broken tree and a dead man. Conflicted between leaving and hiding the body, I simply consume him upon remembering my inhuman-ness, and that we really could use some information.

* * *

A few hours later, we settled down in a deserted shack. My team brought their fruits of their hunt, which I consumed and distributed. It's an unusual view when I realized that I'm technically a male mother that tends and feeds an unusual brood of younglings. I also realize that our humanity sense might had quite eroded when one of my brood also nonchalantly brought forth a pair of bandit corpses for consumption, a pair that mistakenly thought that my lone brood was an easy score for them.

With relative peace on hand, time for the necessary data compilation is available. Upon setting up an appropriate perimeter with suitable sensors and guards (it's a forest with enough animals for turning and control), I set up our bio-computer to help store and compute our data collection.

Being a keen computer user, I tried creating some similar programs for my bio-computer. The results were mixed. My attempt on creating a hard drive was fair with great data retention as long as the drive is 'alive'. My attempt on data compression was slightly below expectation with 60% average compression (it meant the compressed data take only 40% space of its original size). Hard-copying the data into a physical space was successful as porous modified chitin disks with embedded protein structures make good surface for etching the data while durable enough for the common environmental punishment.

All in all, these innovations make data compilation and analysis faster and easier. The results were finalized as follows:

1. Mages are more common in this world, but they make up the majority of the ruling class with the impression of being divinely chosen to lead. Some of them are evil or jerks and most have little care of those below their station. Hence, some hidden hostilities and grudges lie within the common populous. On a side note, magical creature also exists here probably due to evolving in tune with the abundant environmental mana.

2. We are on a floating continent named Albion. Albion is currently in some political turmoil with rumors of gearing war towards their neighbors. Hence, bandits thrive and pose problems to the local populations. Our general area, which we scouted 10 mile in rough diameter, contains a few hamlets, villages and towns.

3. This medieval world seems to progress relatively little since the beginning of their recorded era 6000 years past. This part of their world is known as Halkeginia, and may only be a small part of the world at large. Not much else could be postulated due to lackluster speed of information distribution in this world.

It's time we formulate a plan and determine our new agenda and goals. Since my broods retains some of their personality and thought process, our discussions is filled with constant debate and brain-storm. In due part of our current medieval setting, we chose to travel to the nearest village as a small caravan of merchants. Before that, we're raiding a nearby bandit camp for some equipments and wares.

* * *

My broods share my quiet, reserved disposition. Mostly due to our daily "mind-meld' sessions, but their individuality does shine through. As I'd claimed that my brood isn't mindless as Greene's, my brood unfortunately is as integrated if not more than Greene's. They are in effect a greater extension of my being, just separated into 4 quarters, their personalities just a relic of their human days

Nevertheless, I honored their past by acknowledging their known name. John Sands and Cathy Summers were two homeless living a city block apart when they were attacked by the infected. I was then recently developed an unusual sensing capability to determine suitable candidates for my brood. They weren't the only suitable ones but they were the firsts that I able to successfully turn. The others were either too far infected or just died; the turning process is quite picky.

My third member, Carlos Rivera, isn't the third one I had, he's the sixth. Number four was destroyed by Mercer; and number five was crushed by the military, revived, and got torn by a hunter creature. They each act different, John is brash and spirited, Cathy is a curious cuckoolander, while Carlos is very focused and meticulous. This actually resonates with their past life; John was an ex-marine, Cathy was once a private kindergarten teacher while Carlos was a senior IT technician.

* * *

Being clusters of intelligent viruses that could morph into almost any imaginable form, we kind of abusing it for performing some mundane purposes (for a modern society that is) such as sewing and simple item crafting. We even go medieval and build a simple forge to reshape some of the weapons and armor, and do some metalwork (It helps when your appendages are morph-able and stronger than most metals).After a few days, we manage to finish quite some collection of wares for trade, and started moving along with all our possession and thralls.

I admit some might question our decision to become merchants instead of just go crazy and annihilate anything and everything at our pleasure. I admit that we do have the capacity, but life will be boring either we triumph or being vanquished by the forces of this world. Another reason is my simple philosophy: I dislike bad attention, especially from the larger society. Although not everyone is going to treat us the same, but being neutral and operating under the people's radar makes living our lives and achieving our goals much easier.

Being a merchant is also a reward of its own, since their primary weapon is Wealth; which combines with another of their weapon, Information; creates among the ultimate of tools and weapon, Power and Influence. All these may be easily generated in a medieval society such as this due to their simpler, more straightforward economy and direct trading system.

But like all changes, even as some opposes at first and the inertia of public opinion dampens it, even the smallest ripple shall be a great wave with enough repetition and force. Our arrival at the first village starts our real adventure with the world although looking back; I'd say the first few months were just the calm before the storm.


	3. Of mercantile activities and going berse

Author's note:

I would like to thank the many fans who 'Favorited' and 'Followed' my story. It's a great feeling, and I'm filled with gratitude as it is my first story fully written. I appreciated any reviews and comments about the story, as this helps every bit to make the story great.

However, I must apologize for various mistakes made in its production. Another apology is also made to all fans of either Zero no Tsukaima and Prototype that expects close adherence to the canon. This story will deviate, however far or close, depending on its own flow. This fanfict plays with the world at large, the canon is just a part of it.

Some had asked me whether our Mr Peterson be a good or evil prototype. I'll say it's a surprise. He is a young man, living in another world with their own unique culture, separated from his family and friends, and handed a gift-curse. His growth depends on where fate leads him to. Just a hint: once you hit certain threshold, good and evil will be two sides of the same coin. Hence why only GOD may judge you as even you couldn't judge yourself, not to mention of others' judgement of you.

I hope you enjoy the next chapter.

* * *

Chapter 3: Of mercantile activities and going berserk.

Our first destination as merchants was the quaint village of Browning; a peaceful hamlet lay beside a small river, and is a frequented road junction connecting a few towns and the rural areas. It had the basics: a guard house, a tavern/inn, a blacksmith shop, a small marketplace and a few farms. Our first agenda is finding the authorities here and set up shop. With John guarding the caravan, I search for hamlet's headperson; Carlos takes the tavern for rumors and whatnot, while Cathy scouts the marketplace.

The leader of this hamlet is the village elder, a seasoned Lady Emilia. She was wary of us at first, since the looming war and ongoing conflicts lowers morale and trade had trickled down. I assured her that we are just the very few who were willing to travel for trading. I added that we were actually ex-militia members who grew tired of war and enticed by the wealth came from mercantile activity (I wasn't technically lying as the facts were close to the truth). Hence, our capability to traverse the dangerous roads relatively unmolested.

With her permission, we start setting the wares. Cathy managed to do some networking and forward trade with the merchants and shops of the markets. Since this hamlet is a junction of a popular route, a variety of wares and services are available in the marketplace. Our wares were varied from small arms and weapons, to clothing and sundries, even farming equipments. Both she and John were nearly overwhelmed by the customers during our short stay despite a slow start.

This is simply due to the exquisite craftsmanship of our wares, as we seem to overestimate the quality level available to them. I'm not bragging, but due to our modern methods, we exceed their common quality. For example, modern sewing (which we replicate as close we could with our morphed hands) produced finer stitches while bonding the fabric better and stronger. Even the base materials we used, manufactured by us according to the modern methods, were superior despite looking similar to theirs.

Naturally, this triggers some silent alarms in some social circles and the authorities. That, and the fact that we sold them at average prices (when these wares could have fetched prices a few folds higher). At the end of the first day, with necessary supplies loaded and the trading are done, we retired to the tavern happily ignorant of our slip-up. We even decide to slightly mark up our prices in response to the demand we received.

The next few days were used to produce and sell more wares. The town blacksmith and nearby farm was elated with the coins we paid for renting their equipment and space. It seems everything was in order and our plans shall fall into place with little resistance.

* * *

As many may inquire how we manage to learn and master item crafting et al, the answer is simple. The combined memory of a person's life is stored almost unaltered within the billions of neurons in one's brain. This treasure of the mind was barely altered by death, even after the Blacklight virus infested. We had consumed and assimilated the knowledge and memories of thousands of the infected and the military in our days back in New York, for sustenance, survival and information.

Normally, such volume of memories, data and information could overwhelm even us. If it isn't so, even the brain itself (not just ours but a standard of all humans) had fail-safes which reduce, discard and/or bypass these data. Hence, it is why we could forget and remember long gone events.

My endeavor on creating a bio-computer was an attempt to review, categorize, formulate and record all these data for the time of need and use. If proven necessary, we could replicate almost every modern essential appliance given enough time, space, materials and funds. Even simple modern essential appliances are a great luxury here in Halkeginia, while some might be a force multiplier in some other situations.

* * *

As we left Browning for another town, we were stealthily followed by a few persons. Each one answers to a different party that was interested by us, and our incongruity to the scenario at large. Unfortunately for them, we knew of them tailing us, yet we acted otherwise, for we wish to maintain the status-qua for the time being. Fate had other plans involving us unfortunately.

We had then reached a place named Perch Hill Forest, a day away from Helmstead, our next destination. This route was considered dangerous as bandits and wolves roam here, although some risked it as the fastest shortcut to Helmstead. Since neither bandits nor wolves a threat to us, we are also the very few who strode here.

Hence, it was the perfect place to invite our 'guests' for 'tea and dinner'. With our thralls hidden while scouting, the area ahead was as clear to us as Plexiglas on a fish-tank. The thralls also monitored our 'hidden' pursuers, with orders to knock them out on our signal. That order came very shortly after; they didn't even manage to think anything before they blacked out.

The main reasons such order was made were the fact there was a bandit ambush is ahead, we need information from them, and we don't want them see us in a skirmish (Only a depraved sadist would willing to watch us turn a group of humans into literal mincemeat). The bandits didn't stand a chance, none managed to escape, and they're gone in 60 seconds. Finishing our little 'exercise', it's high time we introduce ourselves to our 'guests'.

If there was a time I saw a grown man shat bricks, it was then. We had hung our 'guests' each on a different tree, upside down, half naked, bound and gagged, woke them up with a bucket of cold water, in the middle of the dark, cold night while caressing a blade near their skin. My 'guest' easily divulges his intention and other tidbits.

Cathy's was quicker although she did nothing but just smiled at him. Carlos's was a bit tougher but he run down that guy's nerve with a constant barrage of repetitive questions. John simply had some fun first with his before he re-release the man's gag (I guess pushing the wrong buttons of an ex-marine does that to you). I'd say that anyone that black and blue would do anything including confessing he had killed his own grandma with a slice of bread while wearing neon-green tutu, and much more.

* * *

It seems we had attract the attention of the Reconquista, the current Albionian government; their neighbors, Tristain and Germania; and by a long shot, the Merchant Guild of Albion and the Elder of Browning by proxy (luckily, he was the one handled by Cathy). We held them prisoners for the day towards Helmstead, while Carlos negotiates some terms of release with them.

The Reconquistan man was made an example of the possible result of breaching our terms of release (He was the one John handled earlier. Poor guy, barely clinging to his life). That same man was unfortunately had to be consumed since it's the humane thing to do, and we need better information on the Reconquista (Fortunately, we did this out of sight. I even brought the guy a mile away, on the pretense of leaving him at a nearby village, before devouring him). Why him instead of the other spies? It's because we're on Albion soil, thus the Reconquista could act faster than either Tristain or Germania. Besides, either country isn't on good terms with Albion.

Helmstead was larger than most towns with more buildings of various kinds. It even has a town square doubling as the marketplace. The prisoners were freed before we entered town, except for the guild representative who lead us to the local Guild branch. It seems that being a guild member would be beneficial in many ways. The Guild is in essence an intermediary between various parties on mercantile activities, a financial institution, and the regulatory body of trading on Albion soil.

As much as I hate mucking in politics, I knew we will be involved anyway in the near future, and our ongoing association with various parties. Fortunately, being new members of the guild, as much as seniority bias sucks, it puts much appreciated backing into our endeavors. The updated map of the land, the relative ease of funding, and the networking opportunities are great boons for us. We are also excited for the coveted prospect of permanently settle down, expanding the enterprise, and starting the next phase of our plans.

* * *

In the beginning, personally, we don't hate the Reconquista or the nobles in general, even with the great injustice and suffering they inflicted on the population. We were new here, thus we lack the knowledge and experience to say otherwise.

Feeling angry towards the oppressors, Yes.

Feeling sympathy for the downtrodden, Yes.

Desire to change the world, Yes.

But not hate, since humans (and us by extension) are dynamic and could change given a good motive, and an event to induce the change.

But, everything has its limit. Yes, one could challenge the limit and expand it, but the opposite remains that you could lose the same way. However, some lines were never meant to be crossed. As cruel as we are, we never kill for fun. We kill for food, we kill for survival, we kill to protect.

In our unique condition, even those we killed never truly die, some fraction of their souls remains with us. Friends, relative and even acquaintances found each other once more, some lead to conflict, others to despair, most were of happy sort. Eventually, the combination of all our souls and theirs became a giant complex gestalt of a nation united unlike the world outside.

Hence, we were greatly angered with the slaughter we met on our next journey. Lives ended based on whim, defenseless children and elders captured and tortured on baseless accusation, able members unable to help their family and village. All these were done in the name of spreading terror and subjugating the populace.

Our answer to this is simply these villains must be taken out and properly dealt with. On that day, Reconquista and corrupt nobles at large had figuratively signed their death warrant, whether we personally execute them or not.

* * *

A fortnight since we joined the guild, based on some rumors of bandits causing delivery problems between the mining town of Whiteglen and its main customer, the town of Silverstride only 15 miles away, we set out to provide our 'assistance'. The plan was to be the main transporter between the two towns while systematically reduce and eliminate bandits and other undesirables in the area by being the 'poisonous bait' to them.

On the first late evening of our two days journey, it however happened. A dragon and two griffins flew fast over the trees, followed by fast-approaching sounds of hooves and clinking armor. An instinct tells us to keep off the road quickly and be as stealthy as we could (our combined biomass forms a large hemisphere which we activate our cloaking abilities). A regiment of foot soldiers past us as swiftly as they came, fully armed and ready to strike.

Another instinct tells us to tail those troops, and it isn't for the sake of those men and their commanders. The same instinct also boils our blood, for we smelt blood and carnage on those men, also fear and regret. We did as necessary, since the road we took is the same the men did. I also remembered that a signpost earlier indicated a village was also ahead, an inkling premonition that it too was involved in this.

We arrived not very long, hidden in the nearby bush, in the darkness of night and the shadows they cast. We could simply see how each and every house was broken into, and its inhabitants thrown out and forced to congregate in the middle of the village. The crowd murmured in fear when suddenly, a dragon and two griffin lands in front of them, the same one we saw flying over earlier.

From on top of the dragon, a seasoned noble arose and began addressing the crowd. With disgust, he accused them of subterfuge and planning to incite an uprising. He demanded that persons involved surrendering to his force lest the village be burned to the ground. When the villages hesitated, he simply pulls out his sword, no, his wand-sword and burn one house with blast of flame while another destroyed with a spike of earth. With great despair and reluctance, some of the young men surrender in hope of placating the noble's threat.

We, for once, never take that noble's word for anything. We know it's just a big pile of bull droppings. Heck, you could see it in his ugly mug of a face and the glint in his eye of the success in terrorizing his subjects. His next actions proved his evil intentions, as he orders his men to separate and bound the crowd into men, women, children and elders. Once over, a squad was ordered to burn the houses while another to bring both men and women back for 'interrogation'. The children and elders were ordered to be summarily executed in front of their distraught families.

Hence, the line I explained earlier has now been officially and irrevocably crossed, burned and buried. The souls in my body all screamed and cursed with the fury of a thousand suns at the sheer brutality and atrocity inflicted upon those villagers. As a creature that consumed many souls, I saw a great deal of atrocity amongst those memories, none however compares to the one in front of me. None!

As the soldiers began their sickening orders, we struck as swiftly as the wind in a wind tunnel. Cathy danced with her hand-blade and talons, slicing through and decapitating the men executing the children and elderly. Carlos took out the men herding the captives onto prison wagon with his razor hand-whips, and done it as gracefully as Cathy. John transformed his arms into our proprietary projectile weapons, and eliminates the men destroying the homes. That left me with the mage noble and his mage officers.

Fortunately, I'm not alone facing them for long. While the others were busy, I simply took out the younger officer with a projectile to the face, killing him instantly, while I razor-whipped the elder with my left hand. The whip wasn't as accurate thus leaving the man slightly better than desired. I nearly forgot that I must also deal with their pets, a dragon and two griffins, as they assaulted me faster than their masters' response, prompting me to constantly dodge their relentless attacks.

I leapt back to regroup with my brood. Now, it will be us four against their two mage plus three beasts. In a split second, I ordered Carlos and John to handle the beasts, Cathy to finish my job on the injured officer, while I handle their leader. Cathy with the easiest of task finished hers early despite some resistance from the man, and then joins Carlos and John for the beast battles.

The man in front of me smiled a disgusted and shocked smile. He never expected to be ambushed while enjoying himself terrorizing his people. 'This place should have been secluded enough for a quick razing job, yet how did these pests come unnoticed' were part of his thoughts (my guess based on his twitching facial features). All the while, he shot a fireball at me for quick incineration and disposal. It thus came as shock to him when I call forth an earthen wall for a shield, only with my bare hands.

Why is he shocked? Two reasons: 1. He never expect a 'commoner pest' like me to have magic (It's their own stupid stereotype that only the nobles can use magic). 2. Wandless magic is considered an impossibility to them (Another stupid stereotype, and their own lack of understanding of magic itself, their own magic no less). Why didn't I defend with my own morph-shield? It's because I'm baiting him into exhausting his willpower.

With surprise and anger in his voice, he asked "Who are you, Boy?! What matter of trickery is this?!". As I had done before, I simply keep silent and stared at him, this time also unleashing the fury I held before. He flinched slightly at my killing intent and penetrating gaze, added haughtily "Do you know who I am, Boy?! I am the one those Romalian cowards called as the Flame Reaper. I'd killed a thousand men in battle. Answer my questions, Boy. Or you too shall be turn to ash soon. Answer me! Who are you!?"

With my continued silence, his anger peaked. Without giving me any more chances, he attacks with his full arsenal of spells. Two large fireball shot at me from different angles, one I stopped with another earth wall, dodged the other by jumping out of its line. Two crossing earth-spikes tried to pierce me, and a pair of earthen constructs collapsed as a trap around me. Satisfied, he smiled. However, that smile lost when I broke out of that earthen prison with my hammer-fist.

Out of options, he fires several cutting wind spell which I defended with my morph-shield. In final desperation, having imbued his sword-wand with flames during my defense, he charged with all his might to pierce my heart as his last attack to kill me. Once the sword pierces, I just snapped it in half while shoving him away. Exhausted, he stand and shouted "By curses of Brimir's damned, who the hell are you?!"

I answered him with three earthen spikes from the ground which he dodges gracefully. Before he retaliate, I shot 5 flame arrows at him which he managed to partially dodge, leaving his right arm burning from those penetrating it. As he shouted in intense pain on the ground, I slam him down with a glob of water derived from surrounding moisture.

The glob dispersed and wetted him; I simply picked him up and blast him with electricity from my body which nearly killed him. Weakly, he mumbled some request of mercy. As he watched my free hand turned into a large blade, he try to squirm but too late, my blade penetrates him and I absorbed him as tasteless as he is. Thus, this ends our battles here, and begins our personal war. A war I regrettably started earlier that I'd planned.


	4. The (Low-key) Demon King Rises

Author's Note:

I wish to thank everyone for their support in making this fict a success. I also wish to apologize for taking quite longer in producing a new chapter as I had a slight writer block. This particular fict was written as a scheduled stress release program, and so far, it had produced some good results.

I do note that some reader felt my fict was a bit slow and that some details were vague. I guess this is how I tried replicating the way how a person jogging his memories will sound like in a fict.

Some people also find the "Peterson doing magic" thing a bit too abrupt; hence I apologize for how ineffective my foreshadowing skills are, and I shall try working on that. (He was a mage from the first chapter, at least he assumed he is one. Arriving in Halkeginia kind of helps him becoming one since Halkeginian magic kind of works the way how he imagined it to function)

Overall, I couldn't thank everyone enough. Please continue supporting this fict by giving your thoughts and ideas. Have a great day and a great week, everyone!

* * *

Chapter 4: The (Low-key) Demon King Rises.

Brimir, The Lord, The Savior, The Founder, is a messianic figure worshiped by the Halkeginian people. His church was based on the Romalia, their holy city located in the southernmost nation of this realm. His deeds as their first king that had united the lands, and founded the four nations, caused his followers to ascend him to the realms of divinity. This reminds me to the Christianity of Earth, and the Talos Worshipers of Skyrim.

However, we who stood there, who had battled and defeated the previously indomitable so-called divinely chosen nobles, who shown them carnage beyond mortal means, was anything but in the likes of their Holy Brimir. Before long, we shall be known as demons and monsters, yet we were also shall be seen as the ray of hope many awaited their life to enjoy after years of suffering from the nobles.

Reminiscing in the aftermath, the whole battle took only 20 minutes. The resulting carnage however had shocked the villagers for about an hour before they managed to snap out and responded. Two burning house had then burned to the ground while another burning two was managed to be saved by us, all during the time the villagers were still stunned.

As we expected, some were began to be scared of us, most however were preoccupied with happy reunions or sadden by the death of family members and destruction of their property. Time however, was of the essence. Although we had acted rather spontaneously, our original plans had taken into account the act we had did, just hasten in accordance to the opportunity presented to us.

In a booming voice, I asked them of the village leader. An elderly man slowly stepped forth after fighting a reluctant tussle and grasps of his family, his face full of fear and of confusion on how to address my call. He finally began "My lord…I am the elder of this insignificant village…I must plead you, my lord, please spare us…Please don't eat us; we're but just skin and bones…I swore on the lives of my children that we are at your mercy…Please spare us, my lord" as he ended it in tears, begging and prostrating to us not unlike a condemned man pleading his life before his due execution.

I might have mentally rehearsed facing such response, yet hearing it in real life had made it hard for me to react as quickly. Steeling my heart, and in a deep voice, the hammiest, most tyrant-like I could muster, I said "Rise, and lift your face to me. Hear my orders well, human. I find insult in men who fell to their knees before even trying to defend what is theirs. I shall let it slide this first time, but I shall tolerate this infraction no longer".

Lifting my face to the crowd, I continued "Listen, and listen well those who witness my being. You shall know me as The Dark One, Inheritor of the Blacklight Curse. I have arisen to purge this land of injustice, and to empower those who yearn for justice and peace. I seek men amongst men who are capable of wielding my fury, vision and hope. I seek men who shall not abuse my gift for themselves, but utilizes them for the good and justice of his fellow persons. But, be gravely warned, those who incite my wrath, they shall die in such pain that they desired not even of their enemies."

I continued "As I had bested the mad men that wishes to eliminate you, this village shall be at my protection but by two provisions. First, none of the events transpired tonight shall fell to outside ears. Second, to effectively protect your village, my orders shall be absolute. Any of you may suggest or protest anything, but the final word shall be mine. Are we clear?" I asked. As none answered, I cajoled them once more "I said, Are we clear?!" which they answered well with an overall affirmation. I asked the village elder to join me for some discussion, having ordering the villagers to attend to their own needs for the night, and directing my brood to scout and secure the perimeter of the village.

That night, I had become a demon king and had started my invasion on Albion. I don't know how far I shall go from here; how far others shall deemed I've fallen in achieving my ambitions. But, as I had been taught and as was deemed of me and any men; what I had begun must be seen till its very end.

* * *

This village, Ramsfield, became our first paramilitary base. The discussion with the Village Elder yields quite the information such as identities of the nobles and the surrounding lands. It seems I had absorbed the senior adviser of a viscount ruling this province, which was expected to return to his liege within a few days. This however is just a standard protocol thing, since the man was also a minor member of the Parliament, hence a bit higher ranking than the viscount himself. I really hate to consider it as just being lucky, as Fate often deals a bad hand to the haughty, thus we began to plan our moves well so nothing much can derail it.

This particular viscount was considered quite lowly by his adviser; he was a bullied man, having to deal with the whims of the ruling Reconquista, all due to his father's stance against the civil war (Guess where the old man is now?). That in turns gave his adviser almost free rein to mistreat the people. Fortunately, it is an opportunity as good as any to put an infiltrator into the ruling ranks.

During our stay here in Albion, I had managed to create some new abilities to accommodate our plans. Among others was the ability to selectively consume only the brain matter of the fallen (rather than the whole body): and the ability to create an infiltrator unit which could easily passed off as the actual person, equipped with basic offence and defense capabilities (though I need a live 'volunteer' for this irrevocable process).

Selective consumption was fully utilized here as information gained from the nobles were somewhat lacking due to them arrogantly overlooked some required key information, and the fact that it look more humane to actually bury the fallen foes (At least I'd managed to swiped some corpses for biomass replenishment earlier). The necessary 'volunteers' for infiltrators were obtained from some soldiers hiding near the village after being scared off by our offensive, and regrettably, had to be fully brain-washed for the plan to work (It's karma I tell you. As much as I despise Greene, I'm becoming closer to be like Greene whether I like it or not).

This province was also found out to be slightly larger than most in Albion due to its mountainous frontier setting. It was only 30 years back when the previous rulers of Albion decided to start developing the area, and even now, much of the lands are still covered in virgin forestland. The fairly mountainous aspect of the region also leads to mining being a major industry here. Hence, the population centers were spread relatively far and wide; and thus enabling incidents such as occurred to be relatively common though not as severe.

As a merchant trope, this too shall serve us well, as much of the resources were yet to be fully developed, and thus providing great potential for expansive economic growth and military development. As much as haste had tempted us, a good foundation is paramount to our longevity and endurance, which requires time and resources the infiltrator needed to work up and influence the ruling society here.

* * *

Viscount Albert Erickson the 4th was relatively young, in his late 30s, when he replaced his father after the elder was 'retired' by the Reconquistan government for siding against the civil war. The Erickson clan had managed to hold on to their provincial lands afterwards just by virtue of being the original owners; and the land's fame as a relatively secured rural frontier with good natural resources, an assumption that shall bite their Reconquistan posterior soon enough.

The viscount was reeling from exhaustion due to the mounting paperwork he must handle to smoothly maintain his province, the reports of various industrial production and reinforcement requests for handling the bandit scourge; when his sturdy study door was open to admit the famed Flame Reaper. He really loath that man, since the man was his unofficial 'jailor' to his own lands. However, the way the Flame Reaper acted felt a bit off for the viscount that day. The man still felt as authoritative as usual, just lacking the usual condescending attitude and remarks.

His senior adviser then reports that the excursion to eliminate supposed national threats was successful, and he also brought along an audience request of a merchant he met on his return trip to the viscount. Curiously, he also inquired on the well-being of his liege and family before requesting leave to attend to his other duties, and to informing the merchant of his meeting with the viscount within the week. This caused the viscount quickly retiring to bed early that night in preparation to handle a growing headache, and whatever wildcard and bad deals Fate had in store for him tomorrow. Fortunately, tomorrow was the beginning of new and better days for him and his people.

* * *

In accordance to our plans, the merchant and the demon king shall be two different yet somewhat related individuals. Hence, Carlos had been promoted to be the new head of our merchant trope while I began raising a suitable army. Before his official promotion, Carlos accompanied me to meet the viscount and offer our services, while John and Cathy stayed at Ramsfield to start the village transformation into a suitable base of operations.

The meeting was held in the provincial manor located two days away south of Ramsfield. We rode there along-side the infiltrators that shall serve as the mediator between us and some of the villagers as our employees, and the viscount himself. We were greeted by the waited staff of the manor that showed us to the meeting room, and its adjacent waiting pantry. There we waited before joined the Viscount and his advisor, the Flame Reaper.

Formal introductions were made by us as the Silver Ring Merchant Company based in Helmstead, ours a mercantile enterprise specializing in trade and logistic on high-risk routes across Albion. Our highly trained members had enabled us to obtain such specialization within a short time period (As usual, we four founders were the ones handling the majority of the dirty killing tasks). The Viscount introduces himself as Viscount Albert Erickson the 4th of the Northern Shields province; and also introduced his senior adviser and Reconquistan government representative as Sir Menvil the Flame Reaper.

We hence started our discussion by offering our expertise in handling some of the banditry problems and help re-establishing some of the compromised trade routes across the province. We simply requested for some trading rights and permission from the provincial authorities in return for the service. Sir Menvil vouching for our capability goes a good way as the viscount defers much of the province defense to the Flame Reaper. The introduction and demonstration of some repeating rifles we managed to manufacture beforehand closes the deal well.

Some may consider our current situation to be very lucky, but we consider it as but just a stepping stone, a probably shaky one at most. The fact that the viscount is still cowering under Sir Menvil's presence is both an advantage and a disadvantage, and also a probable future breach. Once he realized that Sir Menvil is just an imposter, he could revolt or worse, he might help the Reconquista act on us. Hence, we tried milking Sir Menvil's control to the fullest we could while help empowering and persuading the viscount to fight the tyranny of the Reconquista.

After the end of the meeting, we return to Ramsfield once I, Carlos and Imposter Menvil synchronized our plans for the representation of the province through Sir Menvil's seat in the Parliament. A lot of censored information was defined for the provincial report, and we tried to recreate some of the old Menvil's 'charms' so that the illusion last longer and more convincing for the viscount.

* * *

The original plan of solving the Whiteglen-Silverstride bandit dilemma was resumed after spending two whole weeks training the youths at Ramsfield as a basic fighting force, mass-producing some repeating firearms and ammo, and building a decent defense at the village. A rifle squad was inducted to our caravan for fire support and mercantile role rotation for the Whiteglen mission. A second similar squad of well-armed merchant trope was also formed to serve another route with similar mission parameters.

The overall aim was to assemble this province into a superior crypto-nation by creating efficient trading routes and heavy industrial capacity to both increase the quality of life here and prepare an overwhelming military force. The first stage is connecting the neighboring towns and hamlets with safe lanes and passages in between, any bandits and resistances will be either eliminated or be indoctrinated into our secret cause (forcefully of course). The second stage involves entrenching better defenses in each village, all under the (assumed) direct orders of the provincial and Reconquistan authorities. Utilizing (and abusing) several methods and leverages, we manage to placate the populace and even rally them behind the viscount (whom we had to 'very thoroughly educate' when the need arose to work with The Dark One Project plans).

The few months since then were just an imitation of the months prior to our 'invasion'. The Reconquistan government was sent to with the usual amount of taxes; complains, and reports so that nothing much out of the ordinary was in their radar. Sir Menvil even posted an imitated grumble when he protested some tax and levy increases for 'increasing' his work load. All in all, this is just preparation for our first formal invasion in the coming month; we shall strike during their leave for an invasion of their neighboring Tristain. A cheap shot maybe, but that's how viruses take down its host and victim, and we are viruses, no?

* * *

Author's note:

This chapter ends the first story arc which looks at the arrival and development of our characters directly from Peterson's POV. The next chapter begins a new arc which will be freer in perspective, and it begins with a slight skip-back to the time of Peterson's arrival. As teasers, two key information are given: 1. This shall be a Tristain narrative arc, and 2. The link between both worlds yields some very unusual changes to their collective histories.

A warning though to my readers, my plans for the story will be quite long (at least in my opinion). This might yield some potential conflict between what the faithful readers expects from the plot and what I planned.

But never worry, to me, the reader is king. Your collective generosity and insights had help made my writing the best I could muster. Even some of your ideas had helped form the plot of this fict today and the future. For that and more, I could only humbly bow and thank all of you for your contributions.


End file.
